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“For being married to Jessica and having this whole ‘God saved me’ story, you sure cuss a lot.”
“Shut up. Second …” Brock’s eyes darken. “It isn’t food I need right now. What I really need … is somethin’ to knock me onto the floor and make me forget my whole life.” Brock sighs. “I need a drink, man.”
Kyle snatches the hat straight out of Brock’s hand, slaps it on his own head. “I happen to know just the place.”
Brock blinks.
An hour and nineteen minutes later, Kyle is at the bar with a glass of whiskey in his hand he still hasn’t finished. Brock is on his ninth, forehead slick, hair messy, pits of his shirt sweated through.
And he won’t shut up. “I’m tellin’—mmph—tellin’ you, this guy here, Kyle, he was such a beast on the field that afternoon, I was so proud to be his friend when, when he—one more, yeah, top me off. KYLE … he goes runnin’ the ball straight on down the field like a roadrunner—bzyoooom! I’ll never forget it. Still lost the game, but damn, that one run … How’d you not make varsity before senior year? Coach didn’t know what he—yeah, yeah, keep ‘em comin’—what he had. Dumbass prick.”
In another half hour, he’s hanging off the jukebox, a bottle in hand, arm slung over Kyle’s back, singing loudly to a country song Kyle doesn’t know. “Why aren’t you singin’??” Brock cuts himself off, giving Kyle a shake with his arm. “C’mon, you know this song! Grew up with it! Or are you shy, huh? Shy? Hey, heh, you didn’t go to prom, you were dead. Just realized that. They played this song. Jessica and I danced, and I stepped the fuck on her foot. Did you know they—hey, I’m bein’ serious, listen up—they had a memorial for you in the yearbook? Full page for you, they did a whole—nngh—whole memorial page thing. Did you date Stacy on the yearbook staff? She had a—” Brock belches. “—hard-on for you. All torn up the day after we found out, kept crying, the counselor was sick of her by the end of the semester, even the counselor needed counseling, fuck.”
Then Brock is back at the bar, hanging off a stool. “Wait. Becks? Is that … was that your name, sweetheart? Becks, short for—where the hell did I put my keys?—Rebecca, right? Are you a lesbian? You got a lesbian vibe. Sorry.” He lifts his hands. “I’m new here, I don’t know anybody, I like lesbians. The Lord tells us to love, like, your neighbor. We aren’t neighbors, but I love you. Hey, I’m this guy’s friend, this guy’s best friend from back in the day, y’know that?” Brock’s arm is around Kyle’s neck again, pulling him. “Fuckin’ Kyle, this guy, this Kyle guy …”
Then Brock is scarfing down his third basket of chicken wings and fries. “Man, havin’ kids, doin’ the whole dad thing, it makes you hungry. Shit just tastes better in your forties, know what I mean? Food is my fuckin’ Lord and Savior.” He shoots Kyle a dizzy look. “You’re missin’ out, man. I busted my jaw once, real bad, in college, fuckin’ mouth all filled up with blood, it don’t taste good at all, you’re weird, I’m tellin’ you—”
Another hour later, Brock is snoring at the counter.
Leland comes out with yet another basket of nachos Brock ordered, then sighs with relief when he discovers the guy passed out. “Your friend puts food down like a hoover.”
Becks leans against the counter, plucks a nacho out of the basket in Leland’s hand. “Seeing as he won’t be eating these.” She munches away. “Mmm, no one makes them like you.”
“Still feels weird,” says Leland with a frown, “calling this guy your friend. He’s so, uh … loud.” He looks at Kyle. “Until tonight, I’d assumed you had none. No offense.”
“None taken,” says Kyle, seated on the stool next to Brock, gazing at him tiredly.
Leland sets down the nachos, from which Becks continues to snack, then leans against the counter. “Is it weird?” he asks. “Being reunited with your old childhood friend?”
“I’m not sure yet,” admits Kyle. “I’ve got a lot of feelings. Not sure what to make of any of them.”
“But this wouldn’t have even happened if that video didn’t go viral, right?”
“Guess not.”
“So maybe good stuff will come out of what happened, too. Do you know how many people stopped by today to see if you were working? Oh, that reminds me.” Leland moves down the counter, snatches something out from under it, and slides it across the counter in front of Kyle. “It’s sunscreen. SPF 100. Blocks about ninety-nine percent of UV rays. Sylvia next door dropped by with it, a gift, wondered if you might like to try it sometime. Y’know, because of the whole sun thing.”
